


Champions of the Dome

by NoLabelBWYWB



Series: Champions of Voltron [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Galra Empire, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gen, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt Shiro (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Japanese Shiro (Voltron), Keith (Voltron)-centric, Minor Character Death, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Other, Pre-Season/Series 01, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Torture, broganes, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-05-16 07:39:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14807111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoLabelBWYWB/pseuds/NoLabelBWYWB
Summary: Keith Kogane has forgotten what it means to be free. Orphaned before he was even ten, and forced to fight in the brutal Galra games known as the “Dome”, years later he is a hardened killer resigned to die by the hands of another Galra Prisoner, when three humans are dropped into the midst of battle and picked off one by one. When something crucial snaps inside of him, and he finds himself caring for a human, what is he to do?A.K.A. The one story where the author's obsession with hurt!keith is kinda fucked up





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Voltron fic, and with Keith being my favorite character, expect quite a lot of hurt and whump in store for our boy.  
> I don't own anything, nor claim to do so.  
> Also, this here is the link that gave me the inspiration for this fic and for how Keith will look in the story (by catne on deviantart): art/Galra-Keith-634324500

The woman hated the old photos she found in her drawers. Old photos that shone with the happiness of the moment they were taken, and rekindled her desire to go back in time to create them. Old photos that wormed their way into her heart, and made her conscious of her age, of how much time had passed - and of what kind of life she'd led.

She moved slowly to the window where she spent the most of her time, careful of her fatigue, and sat down; her frail body still showing signs of the grace she beheld in her youth. The woman set her feverish palm against the cool glass with a sigh. The scene she looked out upon was a familiar one: a mid morning sun stretched out against the stark white of the first winter snows. The gleaming white softly blanketed the grounds of her country, and her beloved son as he rolled about in it.

She could not help the fond smile that grew on her face as she watched her son play wildly in the by himself. His dark hair flashed like a beacon in the snow, and the creamy tan of his skin stood, blotchy, with its true, violet, color.

Her son: the one and only successor to the Kogane throne- the lone child she could have before the disease claimed her body: a fate that didn't seem too far away.  
Adalena looked down at the old photo in her hand and smiled, unaware of the tears making their way down the ragged planes of her face, and sticking to her unruly hair.  
Do good for me, my son. Do good for all of us.

And as her breathing slowed to a stop, she stared with sightless eyes out the window of her youth, towards her husband in the east, and her greatest treasure beneath her: playing in the snow.  
Do good for me, Keith.

☾

A small boy stuck to the shadows of the thick castle walls, unwilling to be seen. He moved forward with quiet footsteps to a door left ajar; ears straining to make out the words spoken in the conference room. Fuzzy purple ears perked as golden eyes flashed at the sight in front of him.

His father sat down at the head of a large stone table, the only non-Galra at the table. His council of advisors all sat down around him: Zarkon, his closest second, whispering in his ear. A jury of the finest Galrans. Heads of the Galran army, naval force, and government mingled in with the noblemen: sons and daughters of the wealthy-born.

Keith looked upon the faces of the council men and women, cataloging the faces of his father's peers, and enemies. He looked upon the tongues that spoke of wealth and whispered of war. The king sat in the midst of it, listening. Or at least he used to.

He would be happy at the sight of his father, a man who he'd only see every few days at most, if it wasn't for the sharp bite of angrily spoken words spat from his mouth.

"The child will not rule my kingdom! He is but evidence of the late queen's… misdeeds. I have already chosen a successor."

A woman with shaggy purple hair and pointed teeth stood suddenly; pointing an accusing finger at the king. She seemed to shake with the anger she harbored inside of her.

"My sister hung on and fought to birth the child- no, to birth your son and now you will throw away her final wish?" The woman- his aunt- shook her head sadly a the lack of emotion in his father's (?) eyes.. "You disgust me."

"-Haern!"

Keith's eyes widened as she sprung out of her chair furiously, baring her teeth to anyone who attempted to stop her speedy exit of the council room. He tried, in vain, to make his way to the wide shadow of the door before she burst out… only to be exposed to every eye in the room.

Those who had been watching the Galran council member's quick exit immediately bore their accusing eyes into him: the object of their distaste. The boy met his father's gaze with wide eyes, and his father: exasperation. And no matter how long he looked, searching for a change in his father face; a smile, a wink, a whisper, something! He found nothing. The boy's eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over before he found himself being lifted up, and enveloped into his Aunt's arms. Hands flattened his ears gently, and wiped the spilt tears from his blotchy face; dark patches of purple surfacing more in his distress.

"Don't look, child. Don't listen to any of them."

Keith froze momentarily before melting into her arms. Short claws scrabbled at her blouse, and clung to the only person he had left.

☾

Keith knew about the change. Haern refused to tell him what it was, or why they had to move to the small cottage outside of castle grounds, but eventually he found out.  
And it hurt like hell.

The boy was both taller and older than him. All bulky muscle and broad shoulders- a real Galran; nothing like his bony shoulders and skinny arms. The boy who had replaced him as his father's heir. Sendak, was his name. Sendak. So much better than Keith.

Sendak's skin was a pure indigo, clear and untainted; a polar opposite from Keith's mottled skin and speckled complexion. Not a halfie, not a mixed breed: not a mutt.  
Keith could never match up.

☾

Coup d'état. The new word on the street.

Keith only heard whispers of this new word, passed like produce from merchants to customers, and treasured like Galran coins from the slaves who worked in the mines.

Coup d'état.

Keith rolled the word around in his mouth like a fine wine. Tasting and experimenting with the sound of words so strong they made Aunt Haern flinch and make him promise to never say them again. And he did with fingers crossed behind his back; but it was his little secret.

He would whisper the words to his threadbare teddy and sing them to the faded stars painted onto the walls of his room.

Coup d'état.

The words that promised a revolution.

☾

Keith prepared himself for the looming battle, stretching his left leg far out to the side of him, carefully testing the sprain he got from his last fight against another Champion.

He could feel the rumbling roar of the crowd from where he stretched inside his cell. He hadn't fought in a week. Seven days was enough time to lick his wounds from his previous fight; a luxury that only the best fighters in the Dome were allowed. The others were either left to die, or thrown into another fight soon after to save time. And though Keith really had no concrete way of telling the days as they passed, he knew the rotation of Champion fighters, and Bayen had stepped into the Dome just yesterday.

The cell door in front of him opened noisily, revealing a Galran soldier behind it. The man didn't even try to block the door with his body. Keith had practically grown up in the cells surrounding the Dome- he had no reason to run. Especially when running meant certain death.

"Up." The guard gestured with his gun for Keith to stand, even though Keith was in the process of standing even before the door of his cell swung open. It was routine; a clockwork system that had not changed for the entire time Keith was held captive in the Dome: fight, eat, sleep, wait. And if you died somewhere in the middle of that routine, then oh well.

Keith held out his arms to be cuffed, and robotically let himself be led down familiar corridors, and closer to the growing roar of the crowd. The Dome looked just as it always did: high, vaulted ceilings that reached up to the heavens, yet were blocked off, leaving only a small hexagon of light to seep through the dark purple tile around it- confirming to Keith that it was in fact the correct time of day for tonight's blood bath. There were cracks filled with a bright pink light that seemed to weave their way in and out of the tiles on the ceiling, and covering the room with a pink hue. The Dome was roughly the size of a football stadium, but smaller, with stands stretching out in every direction, and a single viewing box that stood high above the rest: the box of Emperor Zarkon and his son Sendak.

Zarkon only attended the fights that starred either his best Champions, or his druid Haggar's latest experiments. And since those two requirements usually met in the same fight, Zarkon came around more often than not. Keith averted his eyes as they met with the cold eyes of the Galran Emperor. Zarkon reminded Keith too much of what he lost, and he needed all of his focus on the fight ahead of him, not all that he used to have: emotions placed second to living.

Keith grabbed the knife that was offered to him. The knife was more of a dagger: wide at the bottom and coming to a wicked point a the top, barbed and deadly. He rolled it around in his hand, adjusting himself to the weight, and length of the weapon- Keith was much more acquainted to the longer swords that he was allowed to use every once and awhile. But they never allowed for a fighter to get too comfortable with a weapon. The Dome fights were never amusing without some element of surprise for the audience- Keith never minded giving them a show; it was, after all, what they kept him alive for. The fact did not bother him.

"Head on in." his handler nudged him harshly towards the entrance to the Dome: a long runway that was the same length on both sides of the ring, surrounded by a pitch-black abyss of negative space. Seeing the two opponents walk down the runway, only to meet in the middle for a battle to the death? Really upped the ante. Keith however, didn't give two fucks about the suspense of the situation (though he almost always gave the crowd the fight they wanted)- as long as he was the one walking out of the ring alive, he could easily end the fight in a few short minutes, and leave the audience wanting more, or draw things out, slicing at his opponent with carefully measured cuts until they eventually folded, and he would finish them off cleanly. It was then that the crowds would become thunderous in their roars: some elated to have bet on the right Champion, and some enraged, but all in want of bloodshed.

Keith had always found that horrifyingly funny.

As Keith made his way to his side of the ring, the other end lit up, and the crowd went silent; awaiting the arrival of his opponent. Keith also tensed, keeping his blade at his side until he could fully size up his opponent, but the preparation was unnecessary as a small galran boy was spat out onto the runway, and into the Dome. He was roughly 5'5, placing at about two or three inches shorter than Keith, and thin as a rail (as all prisoners were). Keith wouldn't put it past Zarkon to send a 14 year old boy into the Dome, especially since that was the scene that was playing out in front of him.

He looked up accusingly at the viewing box where Zarkon sat. The emperor only looked down at him, a telltale smirk on his face. The audience was split between watching the standoff between the bastard and the emperor, and wanting to get their money's worth on this match. After a few tense moments, Keith tore his glare away from Zarkon, and walked towards the center of the ring slowly, feeling the eyes of everyone on him- especially the emperor's. Keith looked at the boy from where he stood in the ring, noting that the boy took a step back for every step forward Keith took, until his back was flush with the now-closed door at the end of the runway. Revealing the dagger he hid at his side, Keith dropped the dagger at his feet, hearing every annoyed gasp and whisper in the dead-silent stadium as he kicked his only weapon to his opponent. The boy looked at the blade for a second in disbelief, before snatching it up. Keith knew that he would be the only one leaving the Dome alive, but whatever untainted conscience Keith still had left was begging for a fair fight. Keith would allow for the boy to get a few swings at him before he finally ended the match, anything to make him see this a mercy-kill, and not a savage execution. Or at least that was what Keith was planning to do, before the boy plunged the dagger into his own neck. Keith was frozen in place, entranced by the way the boys blood spurted out of his neck in high arcs that flew up higher than the boys own head, and splattered onto the runway floor: painting the door behind him black.  
It was the vicious laughter of the barbaric onlookers that woke him from his shock.

Keith ran to the boy, gripping him tightly before he could crumple to the floor. He quickly tore off his own shirt, and pressed it harshly to the child's neck. But the blood refused to stop, and continued pulsing out of the boy with a wet squelch. Keith could not help the frustrated sigh that tore out of him as the boy was drained of life beneath him. He was overwhelmed in the hate of his thoughts. He hated how Zakon always seemed to know what Keith would do before he did it. How, no matter how shocking an action Keith attempted, Zarkon would just smile like he knew all along, and it was sad how Keith just kept playing into his hands. But that hate quickly turned to self-loathing. Why did he continue to try fate? Why couldn't he just swallow his pride, and stop fighting Zarkon? He was above him, and had always been above him from birth, so Keith needed to just give up and accept his role as another prisoner: their Champion...or he could plunge a blade in his neck too, and wait for everything to just stop. Maybe that would be better, to just slee-

-the boy was trying to speak.

"H-h… hurts," His words were split with a rough gasping fit that spat blood out onto Keith. The child's hands felt their way desperately up Keith's face "...Daddy? Daddy it hurts. It hurts, it hurts so bad… please make it stop… please?" Keith attempted to look away, but the child's eyes bore into him: glossy, wide eyes full of delirium and hope- so much damn hope it hurt even Keith. So he closed the child's eyes, wrapped his hands around the child's neck, and tightened his grip until the boy went still.

The match was now truly over, and the doors at both sides of the runway opened up, the uproarious laughter morphed into cheers, and some even began to chant "Champion" as Keith was dragged away by his handlers. One of the men dragging him back to his cell thumped him on the back of his head once the sound of the Dome faded away into a distant rumble.

"Hey Champion," he started, voice thick with sarcasm. "Is this going to be your new move? Getting your opponents to take their own lives so you don't have to? Ha! Some Champion!" He and his partner laughed rowdily, throwing Keith into his cell as if he weighed nothing (which, in some way was true), and went back to their posts, their voices echoing in the hollow caverns.

Keith was left in silence, and other than the occasional sniffle or cry from other prisoners, he was well and truly alone, left with nothing but another nameless face added to the collection of morbid and very literal "skeletons" in his closet. Still, he curled up on the thin straw cot on the floor, and attempted to sleep, like he did after every realization that he was to live another day.

☾

TBC...


	2. Pilot Error

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kerberos mission takes a turn, and Shiro struggles to with his new "roomie" and his impending doom in the Dome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so this chapter is so much later than I expected (sorry) and I was so deep in writers block I was not even really sure if i would come out before my summer ends. But I had to buckle down and crank this shit out. I'm not going to abandon this story, so just stick with me if you can. 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

The icy expanse of Kerberos was unforgivingly harsh. Winds blew, and pushed back against the Galaxy Garrison team of three: all gathered around the device collecting the ice samples they would have to bring back to Earth, along with the rock samples that were collected only a day after their successful landing onto Pluto’s moon. Shiro found it difficult to refrain his amusement at the pure delight emanating from the other two members of his team. Matt was visibly shaking from the excitement.

"Easy, son. This ice is delicate,” Samuel cut in, trying to rein in his outward display of joy, if only to keep Matt’s trembles from escalating. The two seemed to feed of another’s enthusiasm, Shiro had found. As the ice emerged from the extraction device, the father-son duo marveled at the sample.

"Amazing. Isn't this exciting, Shiro?" Matt turned to him, arms now steady around the ice sample. Shiro shrugged. He didn’t get the appeal. 

"You guys get a little more excited about ice samples than I do."

Sam shook his head no, as if he were trying to convince Shiro of the true magnificence of this moment. "This is history in the making. Not only have we traveled farther than any human ever has, but this ice cold holy microscopic clues about the existence of life outside Earth."

Matt jumped in. "Think of it, Dad. We could use those clues to become the first people to meet aliens."

"My life's work would be complete," Sam said, nodding.

A tremble.

“Wait,” Shiro held up his hand, listening and feeling for a slight rumble that seemed to only grow in intensity. He found it increasingly harder to stay on his feet as the earthquake (?) reached a climax. A deep crack divides the ice a few yards ahead of them, before running towards them quickly; a loud crack ringing out in the silence created by the first waves of movement.

"What is that? Seismic activity?" Sam cried out over the noise, pointing with a trembling finger at the ever-growing chasm. Shiro found Sam and Matt’s arms, and urgently tugged them towards the ship.

"We should get back to the ship!" 

The crew carefully backs away from the now unmoving break in the ice; making sure to keep an eye on it. Shiro continues the back away, but pauses when a large shadow befalls them. Above them is a glowing purple symbol, unlike any language he had ever seen before. Connected to it is a ship even larger than theirs, and dark as night.

"Wha—? What is that?! It can't be..." Samuel and Matt were glued where they stood; stuck starIng with wide eyes at the quickly approaching warship. Shiro once again tugged them towards him, and began sprinting away from the alien ship, uncaring if the ice underneath their feet crumbled away. Matt drops the ice sample in his haste; leaving the specimen he coddled so lovingly to shatter on the floor.

"Run! Come on, run!"

They run fast, like the Devil himself was hot on their heels. In some ways though, that’s exactly what was happening. Even as Shiro’s feet pounded the ground beneath him with a desperate vigor, he still found those same feet leaving the ground. The magenta light being emitted from the alien warship seemed to hold its own gravitational force.

A scream, and then black.

⭐

Shiro woke to a heavily pounding headache and voices above him. It is only once he opens his eyes that he realizes he’s kneeling. Matt and Sam were shackled to either side of him with what looked like a rope of light. The heat coming off of them was nearly unbearable. Shiro felt as if he were burning and drowning at the same time, and somehow, his mind couldn’t click those thoughts into place.

"Emperor Zarkon, we were scouting system X-9-Y as ordered when we found these primitive scientists. I don't think they know anything useful."

He started at the sudden noise, but immediately froze as he looked towards the owners of the voices above him. Shiro started inwardly at their grotesque, animalistic features, and forcibly clamped his mouth shut; keeping himself from screaming. The alien species that stood speaking above him.

"Take them back to the main fleet for interrogation. The Druids will find out what they know."

He could stay quiet no longer.

"Please, we come from a peaceful planet! W-We mean you no harm! We're unarmed!"

The two regarded him coldly, before the larger one gave a curt nod and turned heel; his large cloak billowing out behind him. “Please…” The smaller alien looked down at him and his fallen teammates with disgust, before slamming Shiro with the butt of his gun, and throwing him into an uneasy darkness again. 

⭐

The second time Shiro woke on the alien ship, it was to warm fur on his face, and clawed hands rooting through his clothes. He startled awake, crab-walking to the farthest corner of the cell he was in. 

The thing before Shiro was odd to say the least. Distinctly human features, but sickly yellow eyes that seemed to glow in the dimly lit space of the cell. The creature’s skin reminded Shiro of a girl he knew in the second grade with vitiligo; pale, but instead of her brown skin, its was spotted with various shades of purple. Lilac, and a deeper shade of purple ran across the skin as if someone took to splashing and flicking paint onto a living surface. It reminded Shiro of the very ship he was on, and of the aliens that took his team and chained them up like animals, if they were smaller and thin as a rail. (Jesus this kid couldn’t be much older than 18). But despite his current situation, Shiro couldn’t help but notice that when he looked past the unusual features of the kid, he wasn’t hideous as his counterparts, and looked- human. Once again ignoring the large fluffy ears that stood straight in surprised agitation.

“You aren’t dead,” The kid’s eyes bore into his. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve woken up to a body in my cell.” He shrugged. “But if the big man upstairs gives me roomies, I can’t really do anything about it now can I?”

“Who are you?”

The kid chuckled. “I’ll tell you what. Make it past the next few quintants, and I’ll tell you.”

“What’s gonna happen then?” Shiro could feel his hair raise, and unknowingly found himself leaning forward. “What happens here- where is here?”

“Galran empire? Biggest quiznaking regime in the galaxy? Am I ringing any bells yet?” At Shiro’s confused stare the kid huffed. “Have you been living under an orizes for the last 10,000 years or are you just not from around here?”

“I’m not from around here actually. I’m from Earth. Me, my crew- those guys that threw me in here took us from our ship. Who knows what they can be doing t-”

The Kid let out a surprised guffaw which then quickly dissolved into hysterical laughter. 

“Are you serious?” His eyes were suddenly as hard as the creatures that took his team. “You make it seem like you’re the only one who doesn’t want to be here! Everyone here has a family! Everyone here… everyone here.. has someone who loves them. But not me of course, right? I just walked into this cell without putting up a fight, right?”

Shiro sat back on his heels as if he had been struck by the force of The Kid’s words. “No- I didn't mean- I- I,” The door of the shared cell slammed open with a sound akin to the rattle of a snake. A burly guard moved forward, blocking any chances of escape from the prisoners inside of the small cell. 

“Emperor Zarkon wants to see the newest specimen in the dome. You,” Burly Guard motioned to Shiro, a cruel sneer painted thick on his face. “Come on, the factors of your match rely on your cooperation as well as the Emperor’s will.”

Shiro scanned the room wildly for anything that could be wielded as a possible weapon, but the cell was bare save for a single cot, a sleek black box that could only be used as a toilet, and a line of glowing metal loops attached to the side wall. Seeing nothing, he slumped, looking to The Kid for a reaction- for anything- but he only sat still and quiet. 

Shiro scoffed at the sight. Where’s that fight now, Kid? 

Shiro allowed for himself to be dragged up by the guard, his mind racing with ideas as to how the hell he got himself here, and how the hell he would get out. As he was pushed out of the cell, another Galra of a lighter lavender color and a white strip of hair down the middle of his head rushed into the cell and grabbed The Kid. 

“The witch demands your presence, K’eithok.” The Kid- Keith, Shirt guesses, still remained unresponsive, glaring embers quietly into the floor in front of him. Burly cackled, delighted. 

“Half-breed’s pissin’ himself!” The guard kicked out at the leg Keith was obviously favoring-he was hurt- and practically doubled laughing over when the kid crumpled to his knees with a grunt. Shiro strained against the Galra gripping him.

“Hey! Fucking stop! Stop i-” All that came out of Shiro’s mouth was a harsh wheeze as all the air rushed out of his bruised gut. 

“Don’t worry boy,” Burly pushed out between his laughter. “I can give you both my attention. Practically begging like a bitch in heat.” He pushed Shiro up against the unforgiving bars of the cell, rancid breath choking Shiro like smoke. 

“Crux'eb.” Burly’s cackles immediately came to an abrupt stop. The only sound that reigned over the dim corridor was the labored breathing of Keith, but the exchange of words between the two guards was deafening. 

“C’mon Ulaz,” the laughter returned, but instead of hearty roars, these were nervous chuckles. “I was just having a bit of fun. You get what I mean- we’ve all done it.”

“Get the prisoner to the Dome.” Crux'eb looked as if he wanted to argue against the order, but instead nodded. 

“...Vrepit sa.”

“Vrepit sa.”

The Galra supporting Keith (practically dragging him along) disappeared down the dark corridor. Shiro expected to follow, but found himself being yanked in the other direction by Crux'eb.

“Excited one aren’t ya? Don’t worry, you’ll meet Haggar soon enough. But for now, the Emperor wants see your worth in the dome.”

“The Dome?”

Crux'eb fixed him with a wicked smile. 

“You’re going to the Dome to fight a Champion. Whether you win or die will be determined by if you impress the Emperor, so do so or…” A chill racked Shiro’s body as he moved closer to the living beast that was the Dome. Roaring, breathing with the bloodlust of the Galra inside. The Dome was the only place all Galra can revel in the freedom of all feeling, even with their own emperor in the viewing box before them. In the Dome, Zarkon uses the oppression and pain brought down upon his people by his generals and commanders and converts that hate towards his regime to bloodlust to be battered down onto those enslaved and forced the battle. 

Fitting of a warlord, Shiro couldn't help but think. Except…

“...We’ll all eat you alive.”

He was on the menu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! Our bois are in big trouble, but thanks for reading! 
> 
> Hopefully the next chapter comes out a bit earlier than this one 
> 
> ʎɹɹos ɯı sdoo (゜-゜)


	3. A New Champion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro experiences his first fight in the Dome. An unlikely character roots him on. *break indicates a POV change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This chapter took waaaaay too long to write, and for that I am extremely sorry. I love writing, but I am pretty useless at updating on time. I'm so sorry to anyone who is reading.

Shiro’s heart thumped to the beat of the Dome. It was, as he quickly realized-- it’s own living being. An animal that yearned for, and was only satiated by blood and angst. The stands were full of people young and old; Shiro gaped in shock at a woman who couldn’t be much older than his own obaasan, yet was screaming her own violence into the gaping space of the dome. Her eyes were wide and feral, and her hands were closed into shaking fists as if her frail body couldn’t contain the anger that swelled up in her. It was then Shiro realized the guard-- Crux'eb’s words: once you step foot into the Dome, it doesn’t matter if you are a fighter or a simple spectator. The Dome consumed and ate at everything good in a person. It beat you down and turned you into a monster. It wasn't a question of if, but when, and no one had yet walked out of the Dome without a piece of them torn from them. But despite his fear at the situation at hand, he couldn't let the guard next to him see his fear. These people-- these monsters would surely feed off of his fear. He couldn’t let them, he had to come out of this alive, he had to save Matt and Sam, he had to get back home, he couldn’t die here he couldn’t die here, he couldn’t-

“-Hey! Terran!” Crux'eb smirked at Shiro’s obvious panic; chuckling when he was snapped out of his trance. “Do you not want a weapon, boy? ‘Cus I can make that happen, and who knows what’ll happen if you go out there without a weapon? Against a Champion no less?” Crux'eb locked eyes with Shiro, knowing exactly what he was doing by projecting his spoken train of thought to Shiro right before the match. He knows he had his life in his hands. The sadistic bastard. But even though the guard disgusted Shiro, they both know that pride was stupid in the face of death. So he begged.

“No! No, no please. I’ll take anything- please,” Shiro could feel his eyes welling up as the last of his pride was crushed. He was frustrated at this situation that he didn’t deserve, that no one deserve. He was angry, he was tired, and he wanted to go home. Crux'eb grinned hard, but Shiro could see he malice behind his eyes. 

He watched with open apprehension as the guard moved to a wall where hundreds of weapons hung proudly behind the entrance to the dome. Shiro had his eyes on the wide array of battle axes, or one of the deadly sharpened bo staffs hanging below them. He didn't quite know what to do with the bitter feeling in his chest that the Jiu Jitsu style he loved so much as dumb childhood fun, would now be used to take someone’s life away. Shiro scoffed at his young, naive thought that he would never need to fight going into the Garrison. Boy was he wrong. 

He held his breath as Crux'eb placed a lingering hand on one of the bo staffs, sensing Shiro’s obvious want, and turned a complete 180, snatching up a small push dagger, just barely the size of Shiro’s fist, and not even close to the size of any of the Galra in the arena. It would probably fit the small Galra in Shiro’s cell-- Keith, perfectly. 

“Here, Terran,” Crux'eb said slyly. “Here’s that anything you were so desperately begging me for.” 

The guard tossed shiro the dagger, which he numbly caught, inspecting it and testing its weight. There was a switch flipped, and the violet lights in the arena seemed to intensify. There was a hand at his back roughly shoving him forward towards the metal bars, and there was an answering roar of something even less human than the aliens who surrounded him. But Shiro couldn’t feel a thing-- he was numb. Shiro was going to die here. Shiro was going to die here, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

Except fight. 

He didn’t have much family left on Earth other than Adam and his obaasan, but he did have Sam and Matt. And he knew they would never forgive them if he just… rolled over and died without a fight. Wherever they were, if they were even still alive, he knew Sam would get the furrow in his brow, and angrily adjust his glasses like he did whenever Matt and hi went off and did something stupid during their times at the Garrison. And Matt would do the little thing he does with his nose, and wag his finger like an old man as his whole body shook. God, the thought almost put a smile on his face.  
A harsh grip spun him about face, and snapped him out of his rogue thoughts. Crux'eb.

“It is time now, Terran. Survive, and maybe next time you’ll know to comply. Take notes from the mutt. I have your life in my hands every time you step out there. Remember that.” The whispered words sent a shiver throughout Shiro’s body. The grip tightened for a second, before Shiro felt weightless, sent flying through the air… and into the center of the ring. 

And staring into the face of a monster. 

Heart off, Brain off. He had to survive.

Shiro rushed forward, dagger held securely in his grip, an animal cry echoing throughout the Dome. Later he would realize that that cry came from him, and the beast in front of him. But in that moment, Shiro did not exist. All that was left was his desire to fight, and live-- a desire he was more than willing to kill for.

☾

Sendak settled in his rightful seat high above the rest. The emperor's viewing box was created specifically for himself and his father, for the few matches the emperor himself chose to view. His mouth turned up in a disgusted grimace at the bastard half breed that always seemed to be in constant rotation of champions. Sendak missed the last gladiator match it fought in, but his father hadn’t, and hadn’t missed a single match of the runt’s for that matter-- much to his chagrin. He just couldn’t possibly understand what was so special of the small prisoner who didn’t even come close to a fully grown, strong Galran soldier. Those his size and lacking pure galran blood were usually culled at birth, or sent to Prince Lotor’s fleet. Another useless mutt who shouldn't be alive, in Sendak’s opinion, let alone given such a high position of power in Zarkon’s command. But, Sendak thought to himself, his grimace morphing into a satisfied smirk, he beat him out. He was who had the honor to sit in the Emperor’s box alongside Zarkon. He was the one Zarkon treated as a son. Not by blood but by title and opportunity. He was the only rightful son. 

It was with that final thought that he leant forward. The sounding bell had rung. The match was about to begin. 

Right on time, his father ascended from the lift that led into the private emperor’s booth, and took his seat. Sendak stood, giving his father the imperial salute, and sat back down as a show of respect. His father gave no indication that he recognized Sendak’s presence; eyes glued to the starting match. Sendak did not receive information on the Dome matches before they actually began, but he could pick up clues from the matches his father actually attended. Gladiator matches Zarkon attended must entail one of three factors: his runt was fighting, one of Haggar’s beats were fighting, or he was coaxed into attending due to Haggar’s interest in a new species/subject. It unsettled Sendak that the emperor was so swayed by the witch. Especially since Sendak knew little to nothing about her, and the horrific monsters she created down in her lab. And judging by the great roar that sent minute vibrations throughout the stadium, there would be a monster in the arena tonight. 

The beast that stepped forth into the arena was large, but not as large as it’s many other counterparts (maybe around nine to ten feet tall). Also unlike its brother creations, it was not nearly as menacing as some of the other chimeras Haggar had created. Sendak has seen towering beasts with wings, poisonous stingers, multiple arms, and other unnatural features that some Galra had never seen before. This creation however, was built to look like the average galra man, but instead, it was heavily armored, and more stout than tall. It didn’t have hands as it had limbs shaped more like pincers. It held a mallet the size of its leg in on claw-like girp, and the other claw was bare of any weapons. After a closer inspection to the seemingly impenetrable iron-clad beast, Sendak found that there were two long strips of exposed, leathery orange skin. But aside from that, the monster was covered from head-to-toe in armor. Even the head of the beast, was covered in a triangular helmet; almost like Haggar intended for the beast to charge at its target and pierce them with the pointed tip. Sendak was almost relieved to see the face of the beast covered up. He had no doubt in his mind that the face of that monster was grotesque- a consequence of Haggar’s incessant experimentation. These beasts were unnatural, and everyone on the ship had heard the rumor that the beasts were created from the mind and soul of Galra prisoners and enemies of the Empire. He shivered. Sendak hoped that whatever poor bastard of a prisoner had to go up against this thing could latch onto the beast’s weak points, and take it down. Sendak has no idea what happened to the monsters that were defeated in the Dome, but being in one’s presence was unsettling enough, and he wanted nothing more than to see another one of Haggar’s projects destroyed. 

After a beat, the lights dimmed in the Dome, until the only light came from the violet accents that ran throughout the arena. Four posts surrounding the central fighting grounds also flicked on at this time, casting the beast in an eerie red light. 

The door diagonal to the one the beast emerged from only moments before opened at a snail’s pace: one of the many ways those running the gladiator fights caught the audience’s attention and gripped it tight with their own anticipation. Sendak, too, leaned forward in his seat, holding his breath at who the fates decided to send out for the day. Whose fate was going to be sealed in an instant. 

Out from rising door, came a creature alien to him, but impossibly small. This was intensified by the great beast across from the creature. But Sendak was positive the creature would be small even to him. Maybe larger than the other mutt champion, but still small. The half-breed champion was probably the only reason the crowd didn't immediately beign making bets against the alien creature. They had seen worse odds.

But this time, opposed to the smallest champions bias towards knives and longswords, this creature was only equipped with a small push dagger: smaller than Sendak’s palm. He was unsure if such a small blade would even pierce the skin of the beast opposed to the creature.

The arena was dead silent with anticipation, watching to see who would make the first move. But with a movement akin to a switch being switched, the robobeast took off: approaching the creature (a terran? Must be) at a run that was quite slow due to its massive size. Startled at the abrupt movement, the terran took the defensive, sprinted towards the beast with a cry; sliding past the reach of the heavily wielded mallet by going through the beast’s parted legs. 

The match was in full swings, and immediately the silence was overtaken by the violence of a crowd in the throes of a fight. Sendak leaned back in his seat. The magic was broken now. There was no question that the terran would be fighting back, and this sign of a struggle to die is all a Galra needs to see to know that this particular prisoner would not be dying today-- the fight inside of it would not allow it. There was a stadium full of Galra that loved to see a struggle, and that was made apparent by the living emotions that raced through all Galran blood at the first sense of a fight. It wasn’t just custom-- it was their in their blood, in their souls. 

The terran swivelled around on its heel briskly, stabbing at the beast’s back, only to have it dawn on the terran that the armor encasing the beast would not allow for the match to end that quickly. It was going to have to work for its life. 

The robobeast turned, agitated, and swatted away the terran, as if it was only a small nuisance-- a fly to crush. The terran went flying into one of the posts that lit up the fighting space. There was an audible crack that seemed to echo throughout the arena, and silence reigned the Dome once again. All the Galra holding their breath collectively to see if the creature would get up to fight, or if their fragile anatomy snuffed out the fight in that small body. 

In the silence, a ragged groan could be heard as the terran dragged itself to its feet, collecting the small push dagger it had dropped when its body crashed into the cement post. With an angry howl, the terran bounded towards the beast, and with a move that sent gasps and shout throughout the arena, let himself be walloped by the mallet of the best. By sheer willpower alone, the small creature somehow held onto consciousness, and instead, began clambering up the mallet. He seemed to be making a clear path towards the beast’s exposed sides, determination clear on his face.

Sendak gripped the arms of his seat in excitement. A smaller part of him wondered why he secretly cheered for the small terran, but the largest part of him was glued to the match. 

Haggar’s beast never used their brains-- if they were even gifted with one. It’s the only fault they had. That, and their slow, lumbering movements. The terran seemed to be taking advantage of both of those things. 

Reaching the top of the mallet, the terran stabbed its small dagger deep into the wrist of the beast. When this causes the beast to drop the mallet with a roar of pain that shook the terran’s body so hard it was only a small hand that was left gripping onto a ridge in the beast’s armor to stay on to body of the monster. It wielded the ridges at footholds and handhold to climb further up onto the body of the beast. 

Finally, the beast seemed to catch onto what was happening, and made an angry swipe at the creature clinging to its neck with both hands, its legs circling one if the beast’s arms.

Sendak could see the look of raw panic on the terran’s face right before it closed its eyes tight… and allowed for the beast to pluck its body off of its place in the juncture of its neck. 

The giant beast held the body in two of its four fingers. The terran was being held by its prisoner clothes in a method similar to how a Galran mother would scruff her kit. 

Anticipating this, the terran brought its dagger up, embedding it into one of the fingers holding it up, and quickly yanking it out. The beast then yelped, releasing the terran as sickly green liquid gushed out of the slit the creature created. 

The terran was free falling now. Sendak searched its face, expecting to see a look of alarm or dread. But no. The terran’s loud whoop as he fell closer and closer to the unforgiving ground sent the arena into a shocked silence.

But the terran didn’t fall. Didn’t come close to touching the ground. 

In one fell swoop, the terran brought its dagger down to the exposed strip of skin on the left side of the beast. It allowed for its weight to be pulled down by gravity; creating a large slit right where the monster’s armor ended and skin began. To Sendak’s surprise, the small dagger actually did damage, and the side of the beast soon began oozing the same substance that oozed from all of its other wounds. 

The terran hit the ground hard with a drawn out groan. But soon lifted itself onto all fours, and crawled forward, once it noticed the tilting trajectory of the beast’s now lifeless body. 

The beast flipped over the lip of the fighting grounds, and plummeted into the dark abyss below the Dome’s interior.

The fight was over. 

The apparent disbelief of the arena could be heard through the hushed whispers running throughout the entire stadium. 

From his left, Sendak watches as Zarkon stands, causing silence to ripple across the stadium immediately.

He raises his right hand, before pivoting around, and leaving the Dome entirely. 

Champion 

The emperor has claimed another champion. 

“I must say,” Sendak chuckled quietly to himself, an indistinguishable feeling bubbling up in his stomach. “I definitely like this champion much more than the mutt.”

“It'll be an interesting one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you anyone who subscribed and actually took time to read this (very late) chapter. My update are erratic, so if you stuck around, I love you. Feel free to leave reviews and/or slide me a pity kudo if it suits your fancy. I will try to get the next chapter out before my break ends next week, but I really cant promise anything :/

**Author's Note:**

> so this is still a huge WIP so if that turns you off I just gotta let you know. also, I do readily accept constructive criticism, and thoughts on how you guys want to see the story go. I still cant decide if I want bromance or slash, so comment :))) 
> 
> thanks for reading -nolabel :)


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